


storm

by bastigod



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Falling In Love, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Tender Shitheadery, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/pseuds/bastigod
Summary: Oh, you were always stronger than I was.Whoever said Hanahaki Disease is beautiful was a fucking liar.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 33
Kudos: 310
Collections: OsaSuna Week 2020, SunaOsa





	storm

**Author's Note:**

> OSASUNA WEEK DAY 4: _The weaker you made me, the stronger I felt, the higher you built me, the further I fell_
> 
> //
> 
> Additional Note: As this is a hanahaki AU, please be aware that there are descriptions of body horror and usage of emetophobic language.

It always begins in the same way.

Seeds embedded in rib bones. Painless, until they sprout. Tendrils of greenery entwining their way through your chest cavity as they grow. Twinges of pain, nothing terrible, nothing even noticeable. It’s heartburn, perhaps.

The leaves sprout, just buds at first. Photosynthesizing your emotions like sunlight as they grow. The flowers are last. The seeds, the shoots, the leaves, all of this your body could handle. But then that first flower blooms and the entire equilibrium is thrown off.

A warm and heavy object in your esophagus fighting its way upwards is the first sign something is truly, truly wrong. Coughing doesn’t help do anything but make your lungs feel dry and your throat raw. Then petals on your tongue, slimy with mucous. 

Whoever said Hanahaki Disease is beautiful was a fucking liar.

It was post-practice when it first happened.

Cold wormed its way through Suna’s skin and deep into his muscles as his body submerged in ice water, still dressed in his training kit, socks and all. 

He felt like he was suffocating. But it’s just the ice bath. Nothing to worry about. He just needed to endure this for a few more minutes. Then he could bundle himself in warmth.

But then sudden onset pain wreaked havoc on his chest, followed by a wheezing cough. He quickly grasped the edges of his tub to try and push himself upward. 

Cotton in his brain, static in his eyes. 

One final productive cough and white petals spit out.

They float on the surface of the bath water, as if they were purposefully placed there as decoration and hadn’t just been violently expelled from Suna’s lungs.

“What,” Suna whispered out, “the fuck.”

He yanked the plug of the bath and watched the frigid water and petals swirl until he was left shivering in the empty tub. Wet fabric clung tightly to his skin. Carefully, he peeled the training kit off, replacing them with a warm and dry pair of sweats and a hoodie.

Suna’s eyes cast downward, catching the white petals clogging the drain. “Of course.” He muttered, plucking them out and pitching them into the trash can. As much as he wanted to leave them there, he didn’t need his sister asking questions.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Suna squinted as he scrolled, the blue light of his cell phone screen burned at his corneas. He’d scoured countless websites of various usefulness.

> _The data presented on this page is meant for informational purposes only. If you believe you are suffering from florotussis, consult your local medical authority for advice._

Fat chance.

> **_Florotussis & You: Understanding the Genetic Disorder_ **
> 
> _by Dr. Morgana L. Brown, M.D._

Suna’s eyes glazed over the English in the title and quickly tapped the “Translate to Japanese” notification. He needed the practice, but maybe now wasn’t the best time.

> _Florotussis, commonly known as Hanahaki, is one of the most misunderstood medical conditions present in human beings._
> 
> _Q. Can I catch florotussis?  
>  _ _A. No, florotussis is a genetic disorder caused by a recessive trait. The sudden onset of symptoms means many people assume it is transmitted like the common cold or the flu, but the only way to transmit hanahaki to another person is to pass the gene on to your child._
> 
> _Q. How common is florotussis?  
>  _ _A. Despite its popularity as a trope in television shows, movies, books, and other forms of media, the recessive trait that causes hanahaki is present in less than one percent of the population. An even smaller percentage of individuals will exhibit symptoms over the course of their lifetime._

As if on cue, Suna coughed. Pure white petals, again. He spit them into his trash can and continued reading. Of course he had to be a part of that small percentage of a percentage.

> _Q. Can you experience florotussis symptoms again if you’ve already experienced a flare up?  
>  _ _A. This is another misconception due to media saturation. Many dramas depict multiple cases, usually for melodramatic purposes. The truth is, once your symptoms end, you will never experience them again. The disorder goes dormant and remains so for the rest of your life._
> 
> _Q. What is the average age of onset?_ _  
> _ _A. As was mentioned before, you are born with the disorder. But the first symptoms predominantly occur sometime between the ages of 12 and 21, when the average person experiences their first case of unrequited love._

Unrequited love.

Suna knew that was the trigger, but it wasn’t until he read the words on his screen that it sank in. 

Love.

Love.

Love?

“I’m sixteen.” He whispered to no one, setting his phone face down on his bed sheets. “The fuck do I know about love?”

Love was ice pops on a hot Summer day. Love was his favorite song coming on the radio. Love was getting more service aces than Atsumu. Love was his sister mending the holes in his jeans. Love was kill blocks that left the other player staring up at him in disbelief. 

> _How do I know if I have a crush on someone?_

If the characters in the search bar had eyes, they would be staring at him. Threateningly. Mockingly. “What am I? Twelve?” He muttered, quickly deleting it.

Who was it?

Aren’t you supposed to know these things? Where was the ‘ _shit_ ’? Where was the ‘ _oh_ ’?

He imagined the people in his life. His classmates. His teammates. Rival players. Uniform sleeves tight around biceps. Toned hamstrings peaking below shorts.

It had to be a player, then.

_Amazin' as always, Suna._

Suna coughed, spitting out more white petals. He groaned, loud enough that it garnered a sharp knock at the door. He flinched. 

“Rintarou?” His sister. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ryouka.” He coughed again, this time unproductive. The weight in his throat sank back down. “My drink went down the wrong hole.”

There was silence for a long moment. If it weren’t for the dual shadows peeking through the crack under his door, he would’ve assumed she'd already left.

“Alright.” He heard her sigh, finally. “I’m here for you, y’know? You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know. Goodnight, Ryou.”

“Goodnight.” 

Suna stared at his door until the shadows disappeared and the hallway light flipped off. 

> _Q. How do you cure hanahaki symptoms?  
>  _ _A. There are three ways that sufferers of florotussis can be ‘cured’ of their disorder:_
> 
> _The most well-known ‘cure’ is having your love become requited. This is, naturally, messy and difficult to achieve. As a physician, I wouldn’t say I’m qualified to provide any advice on people’s love lives. But, if you decide to confess, just be respectful of the other person’s feelings._
> 
> _The second possible ‘cure’ is florotussis removal therapy (FRT), often referred to as The Surgery. It is incredibly intrusive and requires systematic removal of the entire chest plant. It is also extremely risky, especially if the plant has host-plant resistance (HPR) features, such as thorns or spines._
> 
> _The third is simply falling out of love or falling in love with someone else. This is the most common method of removing your symptoms. As most cases happen to teenagers, their unrequited loves are often fleeting crushes. Many sufferers don’t even have flowers bloom in their chest before the plants die._
> 
> _Unfortunately, there is also death. This occurs when the plant becomes too tightly entwined around the patient’s heart and lungs. Dying due to florotussis is incredibly rare and if you find yourself experiencing symptoms, you shouldn’t immediately panic._

Fleeting crushes.

That’s what it was.

Suna had momentarily fallen in love with that one pretty boy from their last practice game. He smiled down at Suna after pulling a setter dump on him.

That was enough to make anyone's heart hitch.

His lungs would be choked by these white flowers for a few days thinking about him, and then he would move on.

> _Q. Does the species of plant mean anything?  
>  A. _ _Unfortunately, there is inconclusive evidence towards any sort of deeper meaning behind the flowers. Some believe the species is predetermined at birth and does not change. Others believe that the species changes based on whom the target of unrequited love is. The latter is what is frequently utilized in fiction and many sufferers of florotussis find comfort in researching flower language. But there are no scientific claims to back up either of these statements._

In the hanahaki dramas his sister watched, there was always a scene where the sufferer held those bloody petals in their hands. ‘It’s a forget-me-not.’ They somehow, always, immediately knew what the flower was. They somehow, always, immediately, bafflingly, not only knew what the flower was but also its cultural meaning. 

Like most things Ryouka watched, this seemed entirely unrealistic.

Suna leaned over the edge of the bed to peer at the white petals in his trash can. “I’ve never seen those before in my entire goddamn fucking life.”

> _White flowers_

> _Anemone. Camellia. Carnation. Chrysanthemum. Daisy. Gardenia._

Suna has never thought twice about flowers before tonight. Oomimi would buy his mother bouquets every Saturday after practice. Cherry blossom season always made Gin sneeze so loud and forceful that Atsumu joked he’d get launched into space one day. They were pretty on the mantelpiece for a few days, and then they’d wither and die, leaving shriveled petals on the living room floor.

> _Jasmine. Lily. Magnolia. Poppy. Rose. Tulip._

He turned his phone screen off before plugging it into the wall. None of those were it.

It doesn’t matter. A few more days and he’d be free from this forever.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Suna woke in the middle of the night with intense pressure in his chest. He coughed, thick and productive, physically feeling the mucous in his esophagus loosening to allow the petals to rise.

It was disgusting. 

He heaved into his trash can, clenching his eyes tight.

He fumbled for his phone. Blue light seared through his lids, making the insides glow red. He cracked one open long enough to lower the brightness.

[2012/07/17 - 03:32]

[Suna Rintarou]: hey osamu  
[Suna Rintarou]: i cant come tomorrow can u bring me the homework  
[Miya Osamu]: huh…?  
[Miya Osamu]: you good bro?  
[Suna Rintarou]: lol why r u awake  
[Suna Rintarou]: yeah just feeling sick  
[Suna Rintarou]: ill be fine dw  
[Miya Osamu]: i couldn’t sleep  
[Miya Osamu]: okay  
[Miya Osamu]: i'll see you after practice  
[Miya Osamu]: do you want me to tell kita or will you?  
[Suna Rintarou]: if u dont mind

He set his phone back on his side table, stealing a glance at the mess in his trash can.

The petals had morphed from the pure white of his first few expulsions, to white with purple vein-like lines.

Suna sighed, reaching for his phone.

> _White and purple flowers_

He scrolled. More names of flowers he’d never seen before and couldn’t even attempt to pronounce. 

Then there it was, a stock image with a watermark boldly covering most of the photo. But it was a match all the same.

> _Violet._

Most photos in the search were purplish blue, a few magentas, a spattering of orange, but occasionally a white and purple one, just like those in his chest. A yawn slipped from his lips as he searched for the flower's meaning.

> _Honesty._

Fuck this.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A knock at the door jerked him awake to find a room brightened by golden sunlight filtering through his open blinds. Suna blinked the sleep from his eyes and glanced at his phone. 6 P.M.

“C…” He croaked with a painful exhale through his unused, raw throat. “Come in.”

“Wow, ya sound awful, bud.”

Suna looked up to see his brother-in-law, Makihiko. “I missed school?”

“Yeah. Ryou checked up on ya this mornin’, ya were runnin’ a high fever, so she didn’t wake ya.” Makihiko smiled at him serenely as he crossed the bedroom. He set a steaming mug of salvation down on his bedside table alongside a carton of liquigel cold medicine.

“Thanks Maki-san.” Suna took a sip of the liquid, feeling the tea worm its way through his inflamed esophagus and spread warmth in his chest. He prayed the heat withered the blooms that surely blossomed in the last 15 hours.

“Your friend is here. The err.. grey one.” Makihiko gently brushed the hair out of Suna’s eyes with his fingers. “I can send ‘im in if you’re feelin’ up to it. No pressure, though.”

“Yeah.” Suna set the half-empty mug back on his table. “Go ahead.”

Makihiko saluted with a grin before disappearing. His telltale heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

He threw back two of the liquigels, the large softcaps thick and unpleasant as they gradually drifted down his esophagus. It was a god awful feeling in the best of circumstances, much less in these. 

Stay down. Stay down. Stay down.

Suna coughed. Three short bursts. Unproductive.

For now.

Osamu’s presence was marked by a polite rap on the door frame. He entered, unprompted, gently shutting the door behind him. “Hey.” He offered.

“Hey.” Suna echoed, feeling a telltale dry twinge in his throat. Maybe he shouldn't have let Osamu in. What if he found out? 

“I brought th’ homework. Yer big sis called the school, so they ain’t mad atcha.” Osamu hopped onto the bed, kit bag and all. He pulled out a crumpled stack of papers and a notebook that looked like it’d been wet at some point in its miserable existence. “Sorry, I… forgot I had yer homework in here after practice.”

A wave of Osamu’s telltale febreze smell hit Suna as he took the notebook and homework from him. He fought back a grin, thinking of the way his friend would spritz air freshener in his kit bag instead of actually cleaning out the inside. It was disgusting but it was familiar, comforting almost.

“Thanks.” Suna felt his throat constricting around the words. Not in front of Osamu. Please.

“Do… ya wanna work on it together?” Osamu tilted his head. “I could teach ya what sensei went over in class.”

“You, teaching me?” Suna laughed hoarsely. “That’d be the blind leading the blind. You couldn’t teach your way out of a cardboard box.”

Osamu batted at his blanketed knee. “Just ‘cause yer sick doesn’t mean I won’t kick yer ass.” No trace of venom in his voice, only fond teasing.

“You sure about that? I’d win, even like this. I always do.”

A gentle smile. “Yeah, yer right.”

Silence. Never awkward, not with Osamu. He leaned back comfortably on Suna’s lower legs, staring up at the lazily spinning ceiling fan. “How was practice?”

Osamu tilted his head in Suna’s direction. “Mm. We had a 6v6. Kurosu made Riseki play middle blocker since ya weren’t there. Pretty underwhelmin' all in all. Kita bumped a fuckin' crazy spike from Aran.” Something in his expression changed, eyes growing large. “Wait, I brought ya somethin’ else. Iji-san said ya haven’t eaten yet.” 

Osamu produced two containers and a prepackaged set of utensils from his kit bag. One was a styrofoam one with a lid, condensation droplets and spilled broth dripping down the side. “This was gonna be my pre-dinner snack, but I think ya need it more.” The second was a tray of umeboshi. “I got these for you, though. I know they ain’t yer favorite, but Kita-san suggested it.”

Suna gingerly placed the leaking container of soup on his table, then peeled the plastic wrap off the umeboshi. Its signature sweet and sour scent overtook the smell of febreze. He popped one in his mouth, juice stinging the raw skin of his throat as he swallowed. Good pain, if there ever was such a thing. “Thank yo-”

His thanks were cut off by swollen pressure rising.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Not in front of Osamu. Not in front of Osamu. Not in front of Osamu.

He turned away, hoping to avoid looking in those dark grey eyes as he coughed violently. 

“Suna?!” Osamu leaned forward, touching Suna’s arm with a firm grip. His other hand fumbled for the mug of tea, nearly knocking it over in the process. He gripped it lamely, half outstretched towards Suna.

Not in front of Osamu. He pleaded.

Prayers are answered by no gods.

Instead, they’re answered only by his body. 

Writhing. Retching. Searing.

The blossoms allowed him to sleep, but now they had come to claim their quarry.

His arm shot out to snag his trash can. If he had to do this in front of Osamu, at least he could try to conceal the gruesome evidence.

“Shit. I knew ya didn’t like umeboshi but…”

Suna set the trash can back down, exhaling wheezing pants. In the corner of his eye, Osamu’s face was unreadable. 

“Suna.”

Eyes met.

Osamu’s hand on his arm rose, fingers tentatively placed on Suna’s cheek as his forefinger and thumb brushed against his lip.

Pulled back. Spit stretched from his mouth to Osamu’s fingers. 

And to the white and purple petal held between them.

“For who?” Osamu asked, voice steady as he placed the slimy petal in his open palm.

“I don’t know.” Suna whispered.

“Ya don’t know?” He smoothed the petal with a finger, eyes focused on it. Suna wondered if Osamu held some sort of secret knowledge of the world in that head of his. “Or do ya not wanna tell me?”

Suna was silent.

“Is it a guy?” Osamu glanced up at him. “Ya know I don’t have a problem wit’ that. ‘Specially since Tsumu’s gay ‘n’ all.”

“I didn’t know that.” A look of panic crossed Osamu’s face.

“Shit, shit. Fuck.” Osamu clenched his fist around the petal. “Forget I said anythin’. He’d kill me for real if he knew I told ya.”

“Whatever, dude. I’m no snitch.” Suna wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anyway, it could be a guy. I dunno, I don’t care about the semantics of it all.”

“So… then ya don’t know?” Osamu dumped the petal into the trash can, fluttering to meet its compatriots. 

“I… think I might have an idea.”

“Well?”

_Honesty._

Suna stared at the violets.

It wasn't that rival setter. Not by a long shot.

Rather, a teammate.

One of the boys he saw on a daily basis.

Handsome face with skin that has to be soft, there's no way it isn't.

Hair you wanted to sink your fingers into, to mess up.

Muscles developed from practice after practice, visible strength.

White.

Purple streaks.

_Honesty._

“Osamu.”

_Amazin' as always, Suna._

Suna clenched his eyes shut.

“I think… it’s Kita.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Osamu leaned back until he was prone at the foot of Suna’s bed. Completely silent. He’d always been the quiet one between the twins. 

They were both storms in the shape of a boy.

But Osamu was a distant thunderstorm on the horizon. Lightning cracks that took minutes to thunder.

Silence when it was time to speak. 

Nothing was more unnerving.

Then, finally:

“Yer gonna get the surgery, right?” 

“What?”

“Kita.” Osamu linked his own fingers together, settling them loosely over his torso. “He’s never gonna like ya back.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, shithead.”

Osamu’s head shifted, mouth crooked in judgement. “It’s the truth, ain’t it? I jus’ don’t think experiencin’ romance is somethin’ important to Kita.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“What? Yer some kinda expert now?” Osamu laughed. “The universe doesn’t rule over Kita. He rules over it. If Kita doesn't wanna love, he ain’t gonna.”

“You make him sound like some sort of deity.”

Cough.

“He is.” Osamu smiled. “Ya like that.”

Suna took a long sip of his tea, letting the liquid soothe his throat.

“None of this is a surprise. Yer always tryna find the cracks in Kita’s walls. What makes him tick and what makes him human. I jus' didn't realize that meant a crush… though it makes sense." Osamu clicked his tongue at the bewildered look on Suna's face. "Yer m' best friend. I see everythin'."

Suna set the mug back down.

"I dunno how it works exactly, but it takes a bit for people to experience symptoms, no? The..." Osamu gestured a palm over his chest. "Plant has to grow first. A few weeks ago we had prelims."

"Oh."

"You know what I'm talkin' about, don'tcha? Kita subbin' in and bumpin' all those serves."

He always looked so graceful receiving. The ball slowed down and with it the entire world. One leg outstretched, the other bent flawlessly, forearms met rubber. 

Steady. Unwavering. Safe.

A cliffside in a raging storm.

"Though, I'm guessin' it prob'ly was the 'mergency set. I think half the audience fell for him."

Atsumu had been forced to receive, and Osamu was benched, resting a sore knee. 

Maybe it was luck, maybe it was a hidden skill, but Kita managed to set the ball just the way Suna liked it. High and close to the net.

Slammed to the floor.

Set point. Match point. 

At the foot of his bed, Osamu grinned like he knew exactly what was brewing in Suna’s brain. 

A hug. Rare. 

Kita wasn't fond of them.

He met Suna's eyes as the team celebrated around them and smiled. Soft, all-knowing. 

Pride. In himself. In his team.

'You were amazin' as ever, Suna.' A whisper in his ear. Arms firm against his back. 

Suna coughed. Harsh dry air bit at his throat.

"Ya know what I'm talkin' about, don'tcha? Ya didn't even realize it 'til tonight."

"Fuck you." Suna wheezed, muscles constricting and contracting to press a wet wad of petals upwards and outwards. 

When the deed was done, Suna sighed, wiping his lips with his blanket. A disgusting act. But Osamu had held one of his spit-drenched petals in his bare hand, he didn't much care about the pretenses of polite cleanliness in front of him anymore.

"Sorry." Osamu’s eyes were focused somewhere on the bedroom wall. His hand found Suna's ankle, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Shouldn'ta prodded."

Suna's face twisted in disgust. "Don't do that. I hate hearing you apologize. Say something shitty again."

“‘Something shitty again.’” Osamu enunciated the words clearly, mimicking Suna’s city accent.

Shithead.

If anyone had to find out about Suna’s situation, he was glad it ended up being Osamu.

“Hey?”

His dark grey irises flicked in Suna’s direction. “Mhm?”

“I heard he had a girlfriend. First year.”

A fox grin. One usually wielded by his twin. “Nah. Akagi told me he made that up so people’d stop leavin’ letters and chocolates in the locker room.” 

The grin didn’t suit him. 

“Damn. I really am fucked then, huh?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“He’s just…” Suna felt his lungs constrict. “He’s hot and I wanna make him laugh. I guess. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Damn, yer gonna make me fall for him too.”

"Please don't. We can only handle one idiot with hanahaki at once."

Osamu hummed, flashing another unnerving Atsumu-esque smile. "No problem there. I can't get it."

"Ah…" The answer satisfied Suna for merely a second. "Wait. Then that means you've...?"

"Yeah, 'course I have." Osamu's head tilted back to face the ceiling. Fingers tapped lazily over his stomach. "Unrequited, naturally."

“Sorry.”

Osamu snorted loudly. “Why’re’ya apologizin’? Who cares? Least I’m not pinin’ over our damn captain and chokin’ up flowers.”

Suna nudged him in the head with his blanketed foot. 

“Yer secret’s safe with me, by the way.” Osamu said, eyes not meeting Suna’s. 

“You just told me your brother’s gay.” Suna laughed until it morphed into a painful cough. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

Osamu smiled, a tiny one. For a moment, Suna felt like he was intruding, witnessing something he wasn’t meant to. “Ok, that one was my bad. But here…” He leaned towards Suna, little finger outstretched. “I’ll pinkie swear on it.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit ch-”

“Suuuuuuuna.”

He hooked his pinkie around Osamu’s. “If you tell a soul, you have to swallow a thousand needles.”

“I’d be worse off than you then, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Osamu merely smiled as Suna squeezed his pinkie.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Wednesday came and went, Suna alternating from bedroom to bathroom, brain desperately trying to not think of his serene-faced captain.

But trying not to think about someone is still thinking about someone.

"He must've eaten something bad." He heard his sister in the hallway as he was hunched face down over the toilet. "This is probably your fault."

"My fault!" Makihiko said. "Tarou loves my cookin'! 'Specially my ikanago!"

"Honey, no one loves your ikanago. You never cook them right."

Makihiko scoffed. "I'd like t'see you do better, Tokyo Girl."

Suna caught his breath, wiping off his face. The pressure in his chest was gone.

He leaned back against the tub.

The bickering outside his door was a strange sort of calming. A moment of respite from his thoughts and from the vines curled around his ribcage. His guardians had been like that throughout their entire marriage, though he'd only lived with them a few years.

Never fought. Never laced their playful jabs with poison.

He felt another swell in his throat.

Heavy, thick, pain rising.

Is that not what he desired? To have a spouse and a best friend in one.

To bicker. To laugh. 

_He's never gonna like you back._

Osamu's words were his last thought before petals filled his mouth.

Kita would never be those things for him.

Get over him.

That was his only option.

The voices outside the bathroom door grew quieter and quieter.

They were probably leaving to go make out, the way most of their bickering sessions ended.

Gross.

  
  


* * *

  
  


[2012/07/19 - 06:45]

[Miya Osamu]: are you coming?  
[Miya Osamu]: sunna?????  
[Miya Osamu]: suna*  
[Miya Osamu]: fine  
[Miya Osamu]: ill drop by after practice again  
[Miya Osamu]: you should text kita  
[Miya Osamu]: or aran…  
[Miya Osamu]: i can only cover for you for so long  
[Miya Osamu]: btw sensei said youre gonna have to take exams over summer break  
[Miya Osamu]: get fucked  
[Miya Osamu sent a sticker]

[2012/07/19 - 10:01]

[Kita Shinsuke]: Hello, Suna. Osamu-kun told me you weren’t coming to practice today. I sincerely hope you are taking advantage of your time at home and focusing on your health.  
[Kita Shinsuke]: If you can’t come tomorrow, I will send you the training camp information.  
[Kita Shinsuke]: I hope you feel better soon.

Petals. Trash can.

[Suna Rintarou]: thank u kita-san  
[Suna Rintarou]: ill try to be there tomorrow  
[Kita Shinsuke]: You're very welcome. Don't push yourself too hard.

Petals. Trash can.

[2012/07/19 - 18:07]

[Miya Osamu]: yo _aho_ , im omw. do you want anything from the konbini??  
[Suna Rintarou]: (,,•ω•,,)♡  
[Miya Osamu]: …  
[Suna Rintarou]: (｡•́︿•̀｡)  
[Miya Osamu]: fine  
[Miya Osamu]: ill get you a chuupet if you agree never to send a kaomoji again  
[Suna Rintarou]: get me a strawberry one pls and thank you~♡

  
  


* * *

  
  


Suna could do this. It was the last day before summer break. He just needed to get through class and practice today. Then a week long break from responsibilities, from seeing his teammates, from seeing Kita.

He'd cough and wheeze for a few days and then be fine by the time their summer training camp began. This fleeting crush would be gone. No more thoughts about Kita's forearms or Kita's silky hair or Kita's…

Suna coughed. 

That's enough. Focus on practice.

"Kita-san!" Atsumu's strident voice echoed throughout the gym as he sent the captain a toss.

Compared to the rest of their team, Kita’s spiking was weak. He was their defense specialist, a backline protector. With cannons like Aran or Osamu or even Suna, he didn’t need to be anything more. 

But still, as in all the simple, straightforward things Kita did, there was elegance in his movement. The flawless bend of his knees as he jumped, the curve of his arm as it met the ball, the soft exhale as he landed. 

“Nice toss.” He said with a small smile.

“It was a bit high, no?” Suna heard Atsumu ask, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. 

Weird.

Atsumu never asked...

Kita brought his hand to his chin, pondering Atsumu’s question. Suna imagined elaborate mathematical equations and long analysis essays swirling behind that flat brown stare.

“It was fine, Atsumu-kun.” Kita smiled, clapping a hand on the setter's shoulder. “Excellent as ever.”

As Kita jogged away and Aran set up for his turn to spike, Suna couldn’t miss the flush that spread across Atsumu’s cheeks.

Ah.

His slurry of cold medicine, benadryl, and tylenol had gotten him this far but the unmistakable feeling of rising petals bit at his mouth. 

“O...Osamu.” He croaked out, tapping the back of the spiker in front of him.

“Go.” Osamu remained focused forward. “I’ll cover for ya.”

Suna bolted, running for the locker room, ignoring the voices of concern from his teammates.

“He’s still a lil’ sick.” Osamu’s voice was bold against the cacophony. “He’s fine. Le’s jus’ focus on the spikin’ drills.”

The door slammed behind him as he rushed towards the toilets.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he heaved, skin ablaze.

Flowers.

Of course they were flowers, idiot.

No.

Not just petals.

Whole violets.

White as his clenched knuckles, white as the porcelain he gripped.

Streaks as dark as the tips of Kita’s hair.

One final heave.

Spit and flowers and blood and spit and flowers and-

Blood?

Blood.

Not like this.

Suna heard the locker room door open. He reached for the toilet handle, arms, entire body really, shaking. Fingers slipped. Steadied, then success. His crime scene disappeared down the drain.

Followed by the bathroom door opening. “Osamu, c...can you… bring me some water?” He wheezed, hanging his face over the empty bowl.

“It’s Kita, actually.”

No. No. No.

Kita stopped in front of the locked stall, crouching down so he could reach underneath. “Here.” He slid a water bottle along the linoleum floor. “Try to drink if you can.”

“Thanks.” Suna coughed.

“You shouldn’t have come to practice, Suna-kun.” Kita’s voice was steady.

Suna took a sip, the cold relieving the ache in his throat. “I know.”

“If you want to stay and watch, you’re absolutely welcome to. But you should go home.”

“I gotta prep for cam-”

“We'll all be shakin' off a little rust. You'll be fine. Focus on gettin’ healthy first.” 

Pressure rising. Another round.

No blood.

Was just a fluke.

“Suna? Can I come in?”

Nevermind.

There it is. Staining white.

“No. Pl...ease.” Suna croaked. “You can’t… s… see me like this.”

“Ah.” Kita said, a rustle of gym shorts and the squeak of sneakers as he rose outside the stall. “I’ll get you a paper towel, so you can wipe your face off.”

Rush of water. Crinkling of paper.

Kita crouched back down, handing a dripping towel over. “I can call Iji-san, so she can come pick you up.”

“She’s at work.” Suna coughed. “So’s her husband.”

“I’ll get someone to walk you home, then. Either way, you shouldn’t be alone.”

“T...thank you, Kita-san.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m goin’ back to practice now but someone will take you home when you’re ready. Take your time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Kita stood back up and tapped his knuckles against the stall door once. “Get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. Eat bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast when you have the strength and willpower to eat again. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“And don't work out between now and camp. Let your body heal.” Suna could hear a smile in Kita’s voice.

“Yes, sir.”

"Kita-san?" The bathroom door opened. "Coach wants to talk to ya 'bout somethin'."

"Thank you for lettin' me know, Atsumu-kun."

"How's Suna feelin'?" Atsumu's voice spoke as the door closed behind them.

Whatever Kita's answer was was lost to the thick door.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Suna’s face burned with fever as he sat on the bench, watching Osamu gather up his belongings for him. “This hoodie’s yours, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before shoving it into Suna’s kit bag. Osamu pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of joggers. “Do you need help changin’?”

“Nah.” Suna said, grabbing the clothes. “I might be sick but I’m not helpless.”

Osamu continued to pace around the locker room, taking the sweaty gym clothes from Suna as he peeled them off.

“Osamu.” 

He stopped mid-pace, meeting Suna’s eye.

“Can you grab me my track jacket?”

“Mhm.” Osamu fished in the kit bag. His eyes were glassy, averted as he handed the jacket to Suna.

Suna slipped it on over his shoulders easily, but his shaking fingers struggled to grasp the zipper. “Can you help me?”

“Mhm.” Osamu repeated, stepping just inches in front of Suna. His brows furrowed and his nose scrunched as he touched the bottom of the jacket with his fingers. It was such a… typical Osamu expression. One Suna had seen hundreds of times, usually when he was frustrated with his brother, always when something important was bothering him.

Never this close, though.

His lashes were thick over his downcast eyes.

Unruly bits of hair curled over his ears.

There were faint freckles on his cheeks. 

Osamu met his eyes as he pulled the zipper up to the top of the jacket. 

Pinkie finger brushed the skin of Suna’s cheek, just barely, accidentally.

“Thank you.” Suna said, voice muffled by the jacket pulled up too high.

“‘Course.” Osamu quickly turned away, hauling up Suna’s kit bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “We should get goin’. Before ya have another attack ‘n’ all.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Yo.” Suna elbowed the boy walking next to him. “What’s bothering you?”

Osamu had been silent since they left the gym, save for a few grunts as he kicked stones soccer-style off the sidewalk.

“Nothin’.”

“You haven’t said a word since we left school.” Suna stopped, leaning over the bridge’s blue railing. “And your nose is doing that… scrunchy thing.” 

“I don’ wanna talk ‘bout it.” Osamu joined him on the railing. His drowsy eyes stared out over the river and the mountains in the distance. 

“I’ll buy you dinner.” Suna said, grinning.

“I’m s’posed to be takin’ you home, asshole.” Osamu grumbled, no bite to his bark.

“What? You don’t want ramen from Kyouku’s?”

“Yes… No… Yeah… No!" Osamu groaned. "Yer so manipulative, I can't stand ya." Suna laughed as his friend's cheeks bloomed pink.

“Is it about your crush? Did you confess?”

“Of course not.” Osamu stared down at his hands dangling over the railing.

“You never told me who it was.”

“For good reason, too. Yer a meddlin’ shithead.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me!” Suna laid a hand on his chest in mock scandalization. “It’s one of our classmates, then, huh?”

Osamu muttered under his breath.

“I bet you like tall girls. Short girls are too much work, gotta bend over to kiss ‘em. And quiet. Not in a demure or shy way, just minds her own business.” Suna smacked his hand against the bridge railing twice before snapping his fingers. “It’s Naomi-chan, isn’t it?”

Osamu turned away. “Well, she is pretty.”

“I knew it!” Suna laughed for a brief moment before his throat ached. A bottle of pocari sweat from Osamu's bag was pressed into his hand. 

Room temperature, a little bit unpleasant going down but helpful all the same.

“It’s not her, but I think yer right on the money with everythin’ else.” 

Suna decided not to pry any further. “Well, whoever it is I’ll wingman for you. After summer break, when I'm feeling better."

“About that... how _do_ ya plan on gettin’ better?”

“I just gotta get over him.” There was pain in his chest, a small wave but a wave all the same.

“It’s not that easy, y’know?” Osamu’s expression was unreadable bar the crinkled nose. Suna briefly imagined him as an old man, with permanent wrinkles between his eyes. “Ya can’t just sit in yer livin’ room and announce ‘I am no longer gonna crush on Kita.’ Shit just doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m gonna try at least… Ah… hold on.” Suna leaned his head over the railing and coughed, expelling a few unbloodied violets into the river below. “Really hope that doesn’t count as a biological hazard.”

“Yer doin’ well, all things considered.” Osamu pushed off from the railing.

“I threw up blood earlier. I personally wouldn’t categorize that as ‘well.’” 

The back of Osamu’s hand met his forehead, sudden and cold. Soft. “Right now ya seem better than ya were on Tuesday night. And yer fever’s gone down. Yer face is still hot, but it’s improvin’.”

"Aww, you think I'm hot? Thanks bro."

"And yer..." Osamu gestured with a wave of his open palm and a dramatic eye roll. Suna was mildly impressed he could do both simultaneously, like patting your head while you rub your stomach. "More yerself."

"I… think I might know why." 

"Ya gonna share wit' the rest of the class or am I gonna have t' start guessin'?"

"I figured something out today." Suna spit out a couple of petals, vestigial ones that had trapped themselves in the back of his throat and on the roof of his mouth from his last expulsion.

"Go on."

"You're not gonna like it."

Osamu's expression darkened. "I'm listenin'."

"I like Kita." Suna stepped back from the railing. "But I don't think I'm first in line."

Osamu chuckled, relief evident on his face. "Yeah, well half the school's gotta crush on 'im."

"No, it's…" Suna worked his lower lip with his front teeth. "Atsumu. He likes Kita, too."

"Oh." Osamu's expression had morphed from relief to his standard flat expression. "I better talk to 'im, tell 'im to get over it."

"Kita likes him back."

"Alright. Alright. Alright." Osamu grabbed Suna by the jacket sleeve and hauled him into motion towards the shore. "Clearly I'm mistaken and yer runnin' such a high fever ya ain't thinkin' straight."

"I'm serious, dude."

Osamu stopped, the sudden momentum sent Suna crashing into him, bumping them both against the bridge railing. They gripped each other's shoulders, to steady one another.

Dark grey eyes wide as they met Suna's.

Beautiful eyes. Always have been.

The color of a raging storm at sea.

"Shit." Osamu said, face flushed. "I was thinkin' about my idiot brother… I didn't even think… Are you okay?"

"You know, Osamu?" Suna loosened his grip on his friend's shoulders. "I think, if anything, it's almost a relief."

"I don't get ya."

"You said the other night I didn't have a chance, that I should get the surgery but… I wasn't ready to accept that." Suna pulled Osamu by his jacketed arm, continuing their trek back to his house. "But… I dunno. Now I know for sure."

Suna raised his free hand to cough, leaving behind a wad of crumpled petals and spit. He dropped Osamu's arm to wind up a baseball pitch, elbow back, knee bent, before hurling it as far as he could towards the river.

The wad broke up in the air, individual petals fluttering every which way.

More akin to cherry blossom season than the horror show growing in his chest.

"It's almost beautiful." Osamu muttered. He leaned against the railing again, eyes transfixed on the falling petals. Shoulder brushed Suna’s.

"Yeah, that's what they all say. Trust me there's nothing beautiful about retching into a trash can half the day. Or about consuming nothing but unseasoned rice crackers and pocari sweat."

"That sounds awful." Osamu shuddered, nose crinkling. Wind whipped at his grey bangs. Smile soft.

Then laughter. 

Birdsong.

Windchimes. 

Rain pattering on the roof.

Suna felt an ache in his chest and waited for the flowers to rise.

They never do.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed~! 
> 
> This is my only full length fic for Osasuna Week but I have several threadfics on my twitter [@andraste_](https://twitter.com/andraste_/status/1297447334347866112). Come vibe with me. 
> 
> Thank you to Grace for reading this and smacking me upside the head several times. Love u.


End file.
